GLASSES, GLASSES ... EVERYWHERE
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People fret about losing one sock. In our house, it’s glasses.
I’m talking about Mr. Wonderful’s inexhaustible assortment of spectacles, grannies, readers, sunshades and cheaters, NOT the glasses in the long oak bar that holds the bottle of Famous Grouse that I pour when, for the 14th time that day, Himself shouts, “Where are my glasses?”
When he poses that question, I wonder: which ones? It’s not a dumb question.
Could they be the horn-rimmed pair he bought at CVS last week or the black framed one(s) he purchased in an econo-package of six from Costco last year? Or the blue, tan and green ones daughter Amy handed him when she officially gave up cheaters for the real optical deal, whispering to me, “I think Dad can use these extras. He’s always losing his glasses.” Or the brown, metal, frameless or grey ones that end up hiding somewhere in our house.
We live in only 2000 square feet yet every one of those feet can morph into a deep dark black hole that swallows his glasses, often never to be found again. Over the past month I’ve discovered his glasses in the kitchen junk drawer, high on a pantry shelf next to his HoneyNuts, downstairs on the workbench and on top of the gas grill. Two other pair are officially AWOL. Gone-zoh. ByeBye. Sayonara.
The reason he owns 25 pairs of glasses, he tells me, is because “I need them for different purposes.” He uses some to read books on his Kindle, others to write novels on his iPad; he likes a particular pair when driving his PT Cruiser to the IGA to pick up Schweppes tonic, and another for painting a seascape; he’s especially happy with a certain pair he uses to play golf in the garage on the new simulator and yet another pair entirely when he tees off at Webhannet. If I’m correct, he even favors a specific pair for strumming his banjo.
So it’s not that he has too many pairs of glasses. He has too damn many hobbies.
The eyeglass hunt invariably starts a few minutes before he’s leaving the house. He yells, “I’m late, I’ve got a 9:20 tee time and I can’t find my glasses.” Between racing up the stairs to ransack the laundry basket and mutterings of “JesusChrist!” from the basement, the hunt always ends with him vowing to keep “every pair of glasses I own in one spot from now on.” And you know how that goes.
To be honest, I occasionally lose one of my two pairs of glasses also. So I sort of understand. And at times we’ve both both misplaced our iPhones, only to discover one was on mute in the sunroom, or outside in the car, or even nestled in the back pocket of Mr. W’s khaki shorts (which he was wearing while it rang its signature ringtone, “By the Seaside”) but I’ll refrain from commenting on that.
Glasses …. glasses …. EVERYWHERE. But not a pair in sight.
